Tiz the season, 'BoomerNation. That time of year when the sun continues to rise late and sets early. That time of year when the dreary darkness of the morning is wrapped in dampness. A dampness that rides on sweatshirt-stabbing talons of wind. I call it Blahuary.
The soft packed, fragrant dirt trails of summer now are a shoe sucking muck. It sticks to my socks, my tights, my gloves, and memory long after my post-run shower.
The only thing I dislike more than training in the dark is training in the cold and dark. Although I do train in both faithfully, I'd be the first to pull the warm blankets over my head until spring if I thought it would get me across the finish line. But it won't. So reluctantly, deep into Blahuary I press.
Never far from my thoughts of how much I dislike Blahuary with its cold, damp, and dark days are the more powerful thoughts of those who would trade places with me in a moment. No matter how dreary the day, or nasty, deep the muddy muck they would still get out of their hospital beds, lace up their shoes and run with you. Their cancer keeps them trapped and off of the roads of a thriving life while I'm able bodied and sometimes unappreciative of my gift of good health.
Always do I think of them when the cold stings my nose, the rain falls down the neck of my shirt, and frigid streets hurt my toes. I am an athlete for charity and when I swim, bike, and run with my strong and healthy body I realize that I am the one with the gift, the one receiving charity, the one with countless numbers of blue skies, warm winds, and fragrant trails on the long road that is my future. Blahuary comes but once a year but hope, charity and love knows all seasons.